Get to the Good Part! Dragon Age
by lilBlondi
Summary: Admit it, you found this story on the "R rated" filter. Sure, sometimes a plot is nice but sometimes you just want the juicy bits and who am I to deny you? Featuring all your favorite Dragon Age characters in compromising entanglements.
1. 1 Sten x Cousland

Here's chapter one guys, the Sten and your lovely lady Cousland in a sultry entanglement. Enjoy and be sure to comment to let me know your favorite pairs for me to work on next!

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Amara Cousland dropped her dagger belt to the ground and fell heavily to the log bench by the fire. Her calloused fingers reached up to massage her temples absently as she contemplated recent events. Redcliff had been a disaster. After ruling that the circle tower was too far away to leave and come back in time to save the castle, Amara had allowed the arlessa to sacrifice herself in a blood ritual to save her son's life. It had worked in the end, after a grueling trip through the Fade. But Alistair was wrought with depression. He'd insisted that there must have been a way to keep everyone alive. And yet, Amara reasoned, at least she hadn't allowed the child to die. Before leaving her home in Highever her own mother had done nearly the same for her, a sacrifice Amara would forever mourn but understood the necessity of.

Resilient to reason, Alistair was brooding on the other side of camp. The newest warden relinquished her face into her hands, resting on her knees. There was precious little time to begin with; she had no leisure to play therapist for Alistair when they had yet to seek the support of the Dalish and Orzammar.

The clink of plate armor drifted over the popping of the fire, accompanied by the heavy scent of cumin and spice. The metal-on-metal clicks stopped abruptly a few feet behind her right shoulder.

"Something troubles you, _imekari_." Sten rumbled. A few more metallic scrapes signaled the giant folding his arms. Amara would normally bristle at the warrior calling her a child but she had no energy to dispute the difference between size and age. While she was in little mood for company, at the very least she could handle Sten's straight-forward logic and to-the-point sentences as opposed to Alistair's long-winded laments and emotional arguments. She sighed quietly.

"Unnecessary death troubles me. I fear Alistair may be right." She admitted, lifting her face to gaze through the fire to the opposite side of the clearing where the warden templar sat cleaning his shield.

Sten grunted his understanding. "The warden allows feelings to cloud his judgment."

"Has that never happened to you?" Amara questioned, glancing over her shoulder at the statue of a qunari.

"No." He replied simply. The assassin shook her head; she needn't have even bothered asking.

After a few moments of silence the qunari's helm landed next to her foot, followed by splint mail bracers, a breastplate, chain mail skirt, and a pair of mammoth red steel boots. Amara nearly chuckled as Sten took a seat on the bench to her right. The assortment of armor was eclectic at best. It had taken her a while to puzzle through the qunari's taste in equipment but once she figured it out the attraction was clear. Sten favored aesthetically pleasing things. He'd never said as much in words, but Amara assumed he could respect the talent of an artist in his work just as well as the proficiency of a swordsman. It was endearing, even, that a creature so physically imposing and conversationally foreboding would have a love of the arts that most human men would consider effeminate.

"You are _ashkaari_, your decisions were sound." Amara smiled at the praise. Sten had begun calling her the qunari equivalent of "enlightened" after she had found and returned his sword Asala to him. From the context she could gather it was an honor not lightly bestowed and she relished the admiration.

"It is easy to doubt when I don't feel like _ashkaari_." She admitted. Sten stood abruptly and began to walk away.

"Come," he commanded. "It would not be well to discuss in the presence of the warden—or the witch." He added, referring to Morrigan who he had never bothered to hide his distaste for. The giant stepped briskly through the flap to his tent, leaving Amara to be astounded by the strange invitation. She'd not seen the inside of it before, having no reason to be there. But rather than offend the qunari's sensibilities, she quickly leapt to her feet and pushed through the animal-hide barrier to find what she least expected, although it made sense once she thought on it.

The space was not cluttered with trinkets but it was certainly nothing short of what one would call adorned. The enclosing skins on each side had been colored, possibly painted, with intricate patterns in neutral tones. The ground was covered by various furs, patched together in a logical order, she supposed to sleep on. From the central poles that created the ceiling hung a carved silver lantern, covered in whorls and figures from base to tip, which cast a surreal glow inside the enclosure. It was a shrine to practical artistry.

"I wish I had your talent with decorating," Amara nearly laughed.

"It agrees with me," the warrior concurred. She watched as the giant qunari folded himself into a less imposing shape, cross-legged on the floor of the tent. Though she supposed it was a futile attempt. No matter how he sat, Sten would be more than a head taller than her, and a formidable presence.

Amara admired his physical prowess; Sten's strength and talent were yet un-matched. But as of recently, she'd begun to admire him as a man. When Alistair besieged her with questions or entreaties or Morrigan's self interest warred with her nerve, the young appointed leader of the troupe had begun to seek the company of the silent giant. Sten spoke little but when he did it was only sensible and to the point, something she'd come to value. And that was to say nothing of the exotic dichotomy between his frosted braids and dark island complexion. He had a stoic allure that she found more than a little intriguing. But the interest was best kept to herself, she had reasoned. Distractions tended to be fatal, as Sten would likely agree.

"Do you really see me as _imekari_?" She questioned.

Sten contemplated the question as the lantern-light created a host of shadows around his stone-cut features. "No, it is an incorrect description." He finally replied.

"What would be more accurate?" Amara probed further, curious of how she might seem to the island giant.

"You are _hissra_, an illusion, that which should not be. You are woman but warrior, small but fierce, _ashkaari_ but full of pointless questions." He explained, an impressive amount of words at once, for the qunari.

Amara studied the lantern from the floor. Hunters chased prey across the base and near the top the wing of a dragon wrapped around from the side she could not see. "It's beautiful." She breathed.

Sten grunted. "I would expect you to appreciate such qualities."

"Why is that?"

"They say among my people that creatures of kin are attracted to one another. You are visually agreeable, as is it." Amara quirked an eyebrow.

"You find me attractive?"

"That is not a word I am familiar with. You are aesthetically pleasing to me." Sten clarified. Amara cleared her throat around a laugh and shifted to sit playfully on her knees. It wasn't exactly "you're sexy" or "nice rack" but she figured "you're symmetrical" was about as close as the dark qunari giant could express to attraction.

"What about Morrigan? Do you find her aesthetically pleasing?" Amara questioned, interested in how his taste in arts and armor correlated with women. The warrior folded his arms over the wool shirt he wore beneath his armor.

"Had she no mouth she would remain cold and pale." The warden nearly giggled at the spot on description. Amara knew that Sten hated Morrigan's frivolous and acidic words but despite her light coloring most men would find her curves attractive. As for being cold, Amara figured the adjective was more due to his distaste for mages than for any first-hand experience Sten had with her temperature.

"May I ask another question?" She pried.

Sten sighed, hunching over his folded legs looking almost relaxed. "I have no illusions that I could stop you from asking if I wished to." He admitted.

"What you told Morrigan, was it true?"

"I have told the witch many falsehoods."

"What about needing a helmet and armor for the two of you to, ah, be together?" She probed. She swore the qunari almost smiled as he chuckled, presumably remembering the conversation.

"It would not be so. The quun are stronger than you humans but even qunari women would not bear a child well if so abused."

Amara fidgeted uncharacteristically. Her curiosity, among other things, was piqued but she doubted that Sten would indulge himself in such frivolous pastimes. And yet, she could not help the words that bubbled from her lips.

"How exactly would it be then?" She asked.

"You are curious?" He returned. Amara nodded sheepishly. She had never been one to quail at such encounters but the novelty of this particular place, time, not to mention individual, made her anxious. Sten cocked his head, considering.

"I see no more harm in appreciating the usefulness of a pleasing woman than in appreciating that of a pleasing object." He acquiesced, gesturing to the lantern overhead. "I know you rarely abandon a question before receiving its answer, so I see I have little choice." He reasoned.

Amara squinted, appraising the folded giant, the casual turn of his shoulder and his head which had lolled to one side. "You're teasing me!" She accused. And there, again, was the near-smile stretching across the qunari's broad face.

"Perhaps, the quun do have such a concept. But I have spoken truthfully." In response Amara scooted across the fur rugs on her knees with an outstretched hand. Tentatively, she laid her fingers on the side of his mammoth neck, sliding down below his collar bone. And that, precisely, is when all Andraste's hell broke loose.

Sten immediately pounced, shoving her down onto the rugs with one massive hand to her shoulder. With dexterity that Amara could never have expected from such large fingers, he unlaced and unbuckled every confinement on her body, peeling away leather and cloth with equal ease until she was left with nothing but her hands to retain modesty.

To her relief he pulled the wool tunic over his head and tossed it among her discarded articles, though he kept the loose-fitting breeches tied around his waist. Eager to see what she was up against, Amara reached for the waistband but he snatched her wrist before she could pluck at the strings. Instead, he caught her other hand and pinned both together over her head under one large paw. "It is not time." He said simply. With the other hand he rearranged her legs, directing one to either side of his own. Given his size, that feat alone was impressive. Amara gulped, no longer sure how well she would be able to accommodate what would come.

With single-minded purpose the qunari's large hand wasted no time diving between her legs. He reached her inner thigh and began kneading the sensitive skin with the rough pad of his thumb. His touch caused a tingle starting from where his hand worked that began radiating outwards towards her extremities. Involuntarily her hands clenched rigidly and her toes curled with the sensation. It was then that everything began to pulse. The blood rushed to her face while she could feel her pulse pumping through her ears. The pulsing moved decisively between her legs as she squirmed hopelessly, clenching her legs around Sten's massive thighs.

In answer, his fingers moved inward, roughly rubbing beneath her pink folds. The pleasure was intense and heady already and Amara could not retain any sense of composure. She came undone entirely when his forefinger delved inside of her with a maddening twist and stroke. She moaned low in her throat, biting her lip to hold it in as best she could, lest the rest of the camp hear. Apparently Sten had thought of the same thing because he rushed to close his lips over hers. They were soft, unlike the rest of him and entirely not expected. His tongue slipped between her lips, eliciting another moan of pleasure into his mouth.

Unable to do anything but comply, she arched her back against where her hands were still held captive, forcing herself further onto his digit. Renewing the attack, Sten forced another think finger in beside the first. Already Amara felt stretched to her limit. Were she not consumed by the vibrant tingling sensation she might have panicked to think of what he had yet to offer beyond his hands but as it was she couldn't being herself to imagine it.

His fingers parted once, twice, over and over, until she thought she might scream. The throbbing consumed her body relentlessly until his fingers withdrew all at once, with one last stroke.

In mere seconds Sten had freed himself from the wool breeches and was again kneeling between her legs. Amara opened her eyes to survey the new addition and gaped helplessly. Sten's fingers were large enough but even three of them could barely compare to the erect appendage. It was easily the width of her wrist at the base.

"It will not be easy." Sten rumbled. Ignoring the obvious, Amara reached out to touch the tapering tip. With the modest practice she'd had, Amara clenched the base in her fist, giving one decisive stroke to the top. Sten sucked air in through his teeth as if holding back physically pained him, and perhaps it did.

With a low growl, Sten pinned her once more as he positioned himself at her entrance. Amara had thought that she could handle no more before but the painful stretching was nothing she could have prepared for. It was agony and bliss wrapped up in the same enormous package. All at once, the tingling flared once again, radiating from her epicenter that throbbed around the intruding member.

With one final push Sten forced himself in up to the hilt, pausing to allow them both a short breath. He allowed her the use of her hands and Amara immediately reached up to latch her nails onto his shoulders while giving a provocative rock of her hips.

He grabbed her legs and placed them against his chest so they dangled over his shoulders at the top. With that done he began a slow retreat that gained a strangled gasp from Amara.

Without warning, he slammed home, tearing into Amara's clenching flesh. She whimpered, a noise she'd never heard herself make, at the double edged sword of searing pain and undulating pleasure.

The thrusting seemed to last an eternity as she dug into his shoulders with renewed vigor, begging silently to fall from the steep cliff she hung at. Waves of gooseflesh took her each in turn, matching the never-ending tide of pulsing vibrations. Her thighs locked up from strain while her toes squeezed together, latching onto the sensations.

Sten increased the rhythm as her legs began to shake uncontrollably at the edge of her release. Each stroke filled and stretched her anew, drawing forth a final raw cry from her throat. Her entire body contracted and exploded into an ocean of raw fulfillment. Two more strokes took her before Sten shuddered and moaned against her lips, experiencing his own eruption inside of her. With one last sated thrust, Sten emerged from her yielding center.

The two spent a moment, gasping, as they looked at one another. Amara's head collapsed backward onto the rugs in sheer exhaustion while Sten lowered himself to the floor beside her.

"Your curiosity is satisfied?" He questioned. Amara took a long steadying breath before she found her raw voice to answer.

"I don't think I'll ever be satisfied again." She admitted with a hoarse chuckle.


	2. 2 Alistair x Cousland

Next on the list by request from rosegoddess9 is the classic Alistair x PC. I'm sticking with my favorite fem pc Amara Cousland for this one. I'm in the middle of playing DAO: Awakening meaning it's been a while since I've talked to Alistair so my apologies if he seems forced or out of character. Hopefully that won't be an issue.

Enjoy!

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Amara sat on the edge of her bed, motionless, nearly unblinking, staring into her own eyes in the vanity across her lavish room in Redcliff castle. This was not the way things were meant to be. And yet, neither were they all meant to sacrifice themselves at a fool's chance than take any precautions before the encounter with the archdemon.

Morrigan was her friend. The relationship was hard won but Amara trusted her wholeheartedly. They'd stood together, along with all the others, against a host of insurmountable odds, not least of which was the battle against Flemmeth for Morrigan to retain her autonomy. After all of that, no matter how self-interested Morrigan could be, she would never repay it with falsehoods to one who had treated her so well.

_And besides, _Amara thought. _She's always disliked Alistair anyway. She wouldn't gain anything by lying to sleep with him and hurt me. She has her own reasons for this…ritual._

All things considered, Amara still felt inanimate, like her limbs were made of lead. The thought of moving, even changing positions, was laughable. The look Alistair had in his eye as he walked out of the room was akin to what she felt now, empty. Amara knew that sex was nearly sacred to Alistair. They'd spent the night together before but all the same, this had been an unimaginable favor to ask of him. She figured at least it wasn't still his first time.

The door handle creaked quietly and she sat bolt upright, smoothing out the folds in her white night shift. Alistair cleared his throat awkwardly before he even made it all the way through the door. He shut it behind himself, leaned against the wooden frame, and sank to the cobbled floor. He glanced at her with the familiar lopsided grin that signaled an evasive joke.

"It's funny, she just threw a bit of my hair in a pot with some darkspawn blood and dragon teeth and such and _kaboom!_" He mimicked, spreading his hands to denote an explosion. "A baby appeared." He chuckled to himself at his own humor and Amara managed a wan smile to show that she at least appreciated his effort to make light.

"How do you feel?" Amara probed, knowing it was the wrong question but not knowing anything else to say.

Alistair pulled off the homespun wool shirt that he'd gone to Morrigan in, tossing it atop the vanity. "Well just peachy actually but tell me, is it normal for it—" he inclined nodded his forehead between his raised knees. "to turn purple and shrivel up?" Amara sighed. "I'm sorry, it's just she's not who I expected to be with on our last night."

"It's not our last night, and besides, you're with me now." Amara reasoned. "At least it wasn't the first time you'd licked a lamppost in winter." She teased, referencing one of his many early attempts at courtship. He laughed genially at that.

"I suppose you're right, and I suppose now I can return to my rightful lamppost?" He inquired.

"You're always welcome to it." She replied, gesturing for him to sit beside her. He obliged and allowed her to coddle him against her chest like a child. She ran her fingers lightly through his close-cropped auburn hair and—it was damp. Amara couldn't help but laugh.

"You bathed already didn't you?" She accused lightly. Alistair quailed, unable to help the blood rushing to his face.

"Well I didn't want to smell like—well you know." He floundered. She smiled down at him indulgently, all tension broken.

With a flick, she let down her short blonde bob of hair that settled just above her shoulders and pushed her lover down against the sheets. Deciding to take up the offensive, she climbed atop his hips, sitting up straight to look down on him imperiously. "Well, if you aren't too worn out, the night is still young." She said with a provocative roll of her hips.

He put on his most lecherous grin as he slid a hand up her leg beneath the hem of her night shift that barely brushed her thighs. "I'd be a fool to refuse such an open invitation, would I not?"

With that, Amara framed his face with her hands, pulling him up to meet her waiting lips. He wrapped his arms possessively around her back to hold himself up and they remained that way for a good long while—Alistair caressing her back beneath the insubstantial shift and Amara burying her fingers in his newly washed hair.

Eventually they both pulled back to look one another in the eye, both searching for forgiveness. Whether or not they found what they sought, Amara quirked an eyebrow and slowly pulled the shift over her head.

Alistair watched, appreciatively, admiring the way it laid across the top of her breasts before sliding along her toned shoulders. He sighed, sounding almost relieved, as he surveyed her body that he'd already begun to memorize. Having removed the only thing she'd been wearing, he was free to look to his heart's content.

Slowly, he placed his hands at her sides, just beneath her arms, and drug them downwards towards her hips, ghosting his thumbs across the very edges of her velvet breasts. Once at the bottom, he gently massaged the delicate skin just beside her pelvic bones, garnering a quiet sigh from Amara as her eyes fluttered closed in demure pleasure.

She, in her turn, plucked away the strings of his woolen pants, quickly discarding them. Gazing at him from beneath her half-lidded eyes, Amara bent to his chest, placing a trail of kisses starting at his collar bone and ending just above his hips. The last, she added to with a nearly imperceptible bite. He moaned low in his throat while Amara watched a familiar part of his anatomy rise to the occasion between her legs. She shifted, allowing it to stand free in front of where she'd straddled his hips.

Alistair pulled himself back up, circling her waist with his long fingers. His lips landed at the side of her neck, just below her jaw and began an agonizingly slow decent. He moved to the soft juncture below her neck, her shoulder, between her breasts. Eagerly, his fingers flitted up her sides to gingerly caress both pert mounds.

Amara mewled appreciatively as his fingers squeezed and molded her. Alistair had never been a fast learner but what he lacked in raw talent he quickly made up for in tenacity and unflagging enthusiasm. Even after the other men she'd been with, Alistair's gentle persistence had melted her between his rough hands from the start.

Her thoughts collapsed instantly when she felt his lips descend on one eager nipple. He gave one hard suck as his tongue drew circles around the pink protrusion. The sensation was rough but applied so softly drove her wild. She arched against him, inadvertently pressing herself against his eager member.

He finally turned his attentions to her other half, sucking with a careful scrape of his teeth that had her moaning his name. His hands had left to knead her pliable hips. His thumbs stroked just above her backside, but with a decisive switch, grabbed her there instead and with a rough squeeze pulled her against his waiting extremity.

Amara smiled to herself and pressed him back against the sheets, releasing herself from his lips, no matter how sweet the sensation had been. This was always the best part, her favorite game. She loved to toy with Alistair's restraints, to tease and stroke him until his gentle and measured demeanor dissolved into an aching need. She loved to hear him cry her name and throb, aching for release. And after enough blissful torture he would always break, turning into a fierce warrior of the sheets, rather than the reserved lover he always began as.

He looked up into her eyes, and they both panted in unison, experiencing together the quiet before the storm. Alistair closed his, resigning to his fate, as he reached out to grasp at the back of her thighs where they were still straddling his hips.

After bestowing one last, forceful kiss to his lips Amara began to shimmy down his body until she was comfortably situated between his legs. With practiced hands she stroked a pattern from the inside of his thighs down to the backs of his knees, barley applying pressure, knowing that the faint touches would set his body to tingling.

On the last stroke she made sure to graze one finger ever-so-lightly along the baby-soft pairs of flesh below his shaft. He gasped quietly at that and Amara gave his thigh a provocative last squeeze.

He'd closed his eyes to await whatever she had concocted and Amara loved it that way, when he couldn't see what would come next. When her lips pressed against his pelvic bones with a subtle bite his legs jerked briefly, not expecting the moist and satisfying contact. Next her tongue darted out to draw a tantalizing path from his hip to the growing twins between his legs. She began her ministrations there, gathering one and then the other between her lips where her tongue took over the action.

"Amara," he moaned, ending the last syllable with a begging sigh. In response she turned her attention to his waiting shaft. Her tongue traced the backside, top to bottom, several times before she closed over the very tip with her lips. Alistair shifted restlessly beneath her. She grinned, flicking her tongue across the sensitive slit which gained her a strangled cry from his throat.

She briefly took the whole length into her mouth, allowing it to press back against her throat and pulled away with a decisive suck. The velvety thickness quivered with need and she decided upon a new extent of torture for her lover.

She climbed back atop his waist and rubbed herself against the now slippery member. She bent down next to him to sensually kiss his ear and whispered "Don't move." Alistair nodded in compliance with his eyes still screwed shut with the effort of resisting to release to her careful tactics.

Amara pressed his length between the folds of her center and simply rocked against him, creating moist friction. Finally, when even she was barely withstanding the wait, Amara pressed the pointed tip to her entrance. With restraint that she barely had, she pressed herself downward until Alistair completely filled her. He whimpered, knotting his fists in the sheets.

Amara knew his body was begging to thrust, to take control and bring the ethereal wisps of bliss into order, latching them to the squeezing wetness surrounding his member. She slowly raised herself back to her knees until his shaft hesitated at her entrance. Once again, she began the descent, reaching his hilt and holding herself there as she reached down to massage the swollen balls between his thighs.

When she began to move upward again Alistair finally broke loose. His hands flew out to latch onto her hips, holding her resolutely in place. He thrust upwards with abandon, and Amara cried out at the sudden force, reclining back as he penetrated her. At once, he set up, holding himself by digging his nails into her backside.

Finally, "Alistair!" ripped from her throat, a hoarse plea, and she relinquished control to her newly emboldened partner. She slowly lay back until her shoulder blades nearly touched the sheets, bent backwards over her own knees. His powerful thrusts tore at her insides as she began to throb hopelessly from head to toe.

The blood coursing through her veins scorched her insides with every pulse. One of Alistair's hands released her backside and took charge between her legs. His roughened thumb pressed against the velvety nub resting above her entrance and Amara's eyes welled with agonizing pleasure.

"Alistair please!" She begged, incapable of voicing her need. The thrusting, pounding fullness coupled with the rough massaging pushed her to the edge of a precipice she'd never explored. Never had she felt both needs satisfied at once and were she in her right of mind she might have wondered where he'd learned the trick.

But as it was she sobbed his name as the tension built in her thighs from bending nearly flat. His short nails dug into her flank adding another sensation to the dangerous combination she was experiencing.

Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her entire body shook uncontrollably with bliss. Her core throbbed. Goose bumps rippled along her arms. She sobbed one last strangled cry, unable to know which thrust would finally immerse her in the endless pleasure she could nearly feel.

Alistair moaned her name, pounding his last into her, combusting in a flow of liquid finality. Amara finally exploded. The feeling of his juices pulsing through her was the last thing she could handle. Her every muscle contracted, locking up with a helpless shudder.

At last, the shaking subsided and left Amara feeling numb. Alistair remained inside her while they both recovered. She couldn't find the energy to right herself and so she remained doubled over, panting until his arm wrapped around her back and pulled her upright.

They searched each other's eyes expectantly and Amara knew, with one final, bruising kiss, that they had both found their atonement.

* * *

Okay, next up is either a Zevran x fem PC as requested by Angelica. Phoenix or one of my favorites: Cullen and a fem mage. For those who've never played a female mage, Cullen is a young templar in the tower who has always admired the mage from afar. Whichever I feel most inspired by will come next, followed by the other.

Don't forget to comment and tell me your opinions and your requests for pairings! As a side note: I've never been a fan of Oghren and haven't ever played a dwarf. I like all the other characters better so I always just kick him out as soon as you complete Anvil of the Void :P Consequently, I don't think I'm very capable of writing him, apologies to anyone who likes him.

I'll let you all know when I finish DAO: Awakening and you can start requesting pairings from that game too!

Much love, Lynn.


	3. 3 Cullen x Mage

Well, after mentioning the Cullen x Mage prospect multiple people expressed interest so I decided to go with it just because it had been on my mind. Again, a short re-cap for those of you who've never played a female mage (I'm not sure how Cullen comes into play with a male mage, I'd be curious to know if anyone has the answer). I think Cullen addresses you once, maybe just to deliver a message from Gregoir or something similar during the origin story. Upon returning to the tower to eradicate the abominations, Cullen is seen just outside the harrowing chamber, scared out of his wits and trapped in a magical prison set up by Uldred. He is convinced that the mage and her party are an illusion and says something to the effect of "it makes sense for them to send an illusion of her…(blah blah, something about always liking her or thinking she was pretty)" I looked for the exact words on the DAO wiki but couldn't find them, oh well, that will have to suffice. In any case, there's your…not back-story…but justification, for this pairing.

* * *

Renya had noticed Cullen from the beginning, from his first day at the tower, in fact. She remembered specifically that she'd been walking to the library for a summoning lecture. Gregoir, the knight-commander, had been chewing the new recruit out for a lack of propriety. She'd caught the word "fraternizing" somewhere in the tirade as she passed by the spectacle with a quirked eyebrow.

In the first few months they never spoke to one another. Renya supposed that he feared either mages in general or the tongue lashing he would get for being too friendly with them.

Later they had a chance encounter when Cullen was injured in a training accident. He'd taken a nasty bump to the head and Renya's mentor had been called to the infirmary to assess the damage. Renya had recently mastered her second-tier healing spells and her mentor encouraged her to step in and do the examination instead.

Cullen had babbled nonsense for a good quarter hour while Renya rehearsed her techniques to work the healing. When she placed a hand on his burning forehead he had looked at her directly for the first time and declared whimsically "You have lovely eyes." Renya had received an admonition from her mentor for taking the compliment to heart with a blush.

"Don't mind what he says; he's delirious." She reminded the young mage. The healing had gone without a hitch and after, Cullen had always spared a smile for her when the chanced to pass in the halls, bringing her to believe that he had not been entirely out of his right mind.

In the three seasons since that incident the two always made time when they could for passing conversation, the only thing they could have with all other templars and mages agreeing to one thing: discouraging friendship between both parties.

They would talk of trivial things: visitors to the tower, upcoming ceremonies and celebrations, or the latest apprentice practice disaster. But sometimes, when Renya was at the infirmary late at night with an intense healing, Cullen would adopt the pretense of escorting her back to her quarters to keep her from causing any trouble. At those times, with everyone else abed, they talked of other things. Cullen would regale her with tales of life outside the tower from the missions he'd been sent on or life as it had been in the chantry. Renya would explain the healing arts to Cullen's unflagging curiosity. Often, the mage would express her dissatisfaction with life cloistered in the tower. She dreamed of becoming a world-class healer whose talents would be needed beyond the confines of the stone edifice on Lake Calenhad. Cullen would always agree wistfully, knowing that a templar's only job was to protect others from mages and to protect mages from themselves. To this, Renya had begun to insist that should she ever be allowed to leave the tower to travel, she would need Cullen to come along as her protector and overseer. After all, a mage could not be trusted out in the big wide world alone. Cullen would always laugh and agree, not daring to dream that things would work out quite so perfectly.

After her Harrowing, Cullen confided in her that should she have failed he was assigned to make the killing blow. A mage corrupted by demons could not be allowed to live. Renya had nodded, understanding. She reassured him that it was his duty, and had the worst occurred, hesitating would have been a disservice to her and the rest of the tower.

But as it was, no such thing had been necessary. Cullen was relieved, admitting that he was not sure who he would talk to if anything happened to her. She was flattered, to say the least, that he valued her company so highly.

All of those things, in one way or another, had brought them to the one night that had changed everything.

Renya rose from her knees at the bedside of the injured templar. He'd suffered severe burns along his left side and a terrible blow to the head. A Harrowing had gone terribly awry that morning, leaving the tower filled with palpable tension and in a near state of frenzy. No matter how rare or frequently these incidences arose, the residents of the tower could never adjust to the aftermath. There was always a few day's studied propriety between mages and templars. It was as if they did not speak to one another they could pretend it hadn't happened. They were faced with the terrible knowledge that this is why the templars existed and mages were never trusted. This particular templar had been helping to oversee the proceedings in the harrowing chamber. He'd choked up when it became clear that the mage had failed, unable to do what he must. The brief hesitation had lead to an hour's fight in the harrowing chamber to subdue the mage.

She sighed. Renya hadn't known the apprentice personally. A girl named Adria, she'd heard. Apparently she'd specialized in elemental magic, a powerful persuasion that, as far as Renya could tell, was more susceptible to temptation from beyond the Fade.

"May I retire, Enchanter Leorah?" She called across the infirmary. The newest senior enchanter had just finished work on another unfortunate templar to be caught in the morning's mess.

Leorah waved her off with an impatient hand, apparently intending to stay and work on the details of settling up with the infirmary's head healer. Renya smoothed the skirts of her mage's robe as she headed for the oak door to the hallway. Sure enough, Cullen had volunteered to take the late shift of awaiting work in the infirmary to cease. Renya was the last regular enchanter to leave—senior enchanters like Leorah did not need to be so closely supervised—and so the templar fell into practiced step with her. They always walked slowly, relishing the short time available even on these late night excursions. But tonight it seemed, the morning's disruption had left things awkward between even them.

"Did you know her?" He asked finally. Renya shook her head mutely. Cullen hadn't been involved in the battle but she assumed he'd heard details of the struggle from the other templars.

"How are things on your end?" She asked.

Cullen shrugged. "About what you'd expect. Gregoir gave a lecture about duty, responsibility, and the like. He'll likely make an example of Damon for hesitating. It's fueled the usual talk of mages, you know." The silence descended again, unforgiving, like the swing of a blade.

"Leorah says I have real natural talent." Renya piped up. "In a few years I may be able to take on an apprentice she says. Or if I decide mentoring isn't my forte she said talent is always needed outside the tower."

Cullen smiled down at her; he'd removed his helm for the walk. "You may yet be free of this place." He agreed.

Renya looked at her booted feet. "Not free," she amended. "But certainly less trapped." He nodded, sobering as well.

"Cullen, if I ever leave here I really do want you to come with me. Or at least, perhaps you could find an assignment at a chantry nearby wherever I may end up." She glanced at his profile nervously. They'd always joked about such a future but never in such detail. The plans were usually more vague stories of grandeur, Renya traveling the world with her stalwart protector templar, healing kings and heroes.

"Anything is possible." He allowed, though his smile looked forced, pained even.

At that point they'd reached Renya's quarters in the Enchanter's wing. As a harrowed mage she'd finally been able to move out of the apprentices dormitories to her own room. She turned to look Cullen in the eyes.

He was afraid for her. That's why he had shelled up, she knew. These events brought the inevitable reality to the forefront of everyone's minds. The truth was that, in theory, even after the Harrowing, Renya could still be seduced by a fade demon, drawn to blood magic. She would never let it happen to her, she knew, but the fear in Cullen's eyes was unmistakable.

"It won't happen to me." She insisted. Impulsively she reached out to touch his cheek. Her thumb caressed the stubble framing his mouth. Cullen's eyes were saucers and he turned away quickly.

"I should really—"

"Cullen." He turned back to her, looking conflicted. Renya took a crazy chance, one that she knew she might regret later. She reached up and grasped the metal collar of his armor, using it to yank him down to her level. She pressed her lips to his, conscious of her shaking hands. When he didn't respond Renya worried that she'd miss stepped, finally crossing the line she knew they'd been toeing together. Until at last, a few seconds, though it felt like minutes, Cullen recovered from the shock and kissed her back.

His armor clinked together faintly when his arms rose to encircle her. She was pressed to the bulging breastplate all templars wore, trapped in his metal embrace as he pressed her back lightly against the door to her room she'd been standing before.

Renya had the building urge to feel what lied beneath the heavy iron plating. It was cold and unyielding to the touch, altogether unsatisfying. Deciding to risk further, she reached behind her back to grasp the door handle. With an uncomfortable maneuver she twisted it, forcing the door open and the two tumbled in together. Once recovered, she quickly re-latched the door and turned to look at Cullen.

He was running one leather clad hand through his auburn curls, looking particularly uncomfortable. "You can leave, if you should." She suggested, allowing him the way out that she was afraid he desired. She stood aside from the door, eyeing his reaction. He stared at the oak barrier intently, weighing his options, the consequences, silently. Finally, he looked at her, raising a hand to her cheek.

"No," he breathed simply. He opened his mouth as if to say something further and then reconsidered, shaking his head to emphasize his decision.

Renya placed her hands on the barrel-shaped breastplate. "Must you be a templar, even here?" She asked. He shook his head again as she looked him in the eye. Alone, he went about the tedious business of shrugging out of the metal contraption. As each piece was removed he set it along the wall near the door, revealing a simple homespun tunic and leather breeches underneath.

Renya admired the man beneath the armor as he came into view. Curious as it was, there had never been an occasion for her to see him without it on. He had broad shoulders that probably just barely fit within the iron spaulders and a trim waist, she supposed from all the continual training the templars endured.

Her curiosity finally satisfied, Renya reached out to touch his unarmored chest. Unsure, Cullen followed suit, wrapping his bare hands around her waist, as she kissed him again.

Which of them began the halting and awkward movement towards her bed, Renya was not sure. Cullen was the first to breach the territory of exploring beneath their clothes and Renya lead the movement to finally remove them. And after what could have been hours or mere minutes, the two were kneeling on top of the blankets of Renya's modest bed, holding each other in their bare arms, unsure of how to look at one another.

Renya pulled away from his kiss tentatively. "Have you ever…" She trailed off, staring at the blank wall over her friend's shoulder. Cullen shook his head mutely until he found the words.

"And you?" He croaked.

"No," She whispered.

"I didn't think this was possible." The templar admitted with a slight shrug as he held her shoulders.

"It isn't." She agreed. "But less plausible things have happened."

They kneeled together in silence, absorbing the moment. Renya was determined to remember everything, lest this never happen again. Cullen's fingers on her shoulders were rough and calloused but she didn't mind, the rough sand-paper feeling made her aware that it was real, that she was alive. She couldn't remember that last time she'd had any real physical contact. She couldn't remember sharing a hug or putting an arm around a friend in years, since she was a young initiate in the circle. Such things were discouraged.

His breath against her forehead was moist and hurried, creating condensation that trailed away from her hairline. His chest was pressed to hers, hard and molded, but soft to the touch if she traced her fingers along it. His legs were also conjoined to her own, separated only by the thick forest of hairs that prickled along her never-touched thighs. And lastly, she thought, unable to fight down the blush she felt arising, was his solid member. Of course, healers had to understand the full anatomy of the human body. She'd seen diagrams and understood the organ, but seeing it here, in this context, on this person, made her head light. It was pressed between their stomachs, undeniable, though they both tried to pretend as if it weren't there.

Finally, Cullen looked her in the eye and she nodded faintly. With that permission, he laid her back on top of the sheets, settling himself between her legs as he held himself apart from her body with his forearms.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Are you ready?" He asked, unsure of the protocol for this particular oddity. In response, Renya pulled his body down to meet hers, pressing their lips back together.

While she concentrated on the hurried, bruising kisses, Renya could feel his hand fumbling between their bodies. She jumped at a sudden touch at her center for which he quickly apologized. She wasn't sure what part of him it had been but then the soft probing came again, slipping on the wetness between her legs. He breath caught in her throat until she thought she may choke.

It wasn't unpleasant, far from it. The gentle touches sent a tingling wave radiating from her core until she was shivering. At last, the probing finger was replaced with something quite larger hovering between her legs. It pressed, tentatively, and then more forcefully.

Renya gritted her teeth against the dull pain, the stretching, aching intrusion. She let her head fall back against the bed, resigned to the uncomfortable sensation until at last, with one quick, slippery push, it had filled her entirely.

She gasped, unsure of whether it was pain or bliss and heard Cullen moan above her. He kissed her clumsily, mashing his lips to hers, as if just to gain any contact possible. The pressure between her legs began to recede and she whimpered involuntarily.

"Does it hurt?" he murmured against her lips between staggered breaths.

"I don't know," she confessed, strangled for air that she couldn't get enough of in the heat of the moment.

After a still moment Renya relaxed. Now that it had been within her once, the lack of the thick, moist, pressure made her insides throb—this time not with pain, but with insatiable need. At her prodding, Cullen began to press into her once again.

They moaned together, unsure of how to proceed, only knowing that this one moment was bliss.

At last, Cullen began moving faster with abandon. Renya mewled appreciatively at the hard, thrusting weight. She wrapped her arms around his back, arching to the tantalizing rhythm.

Her breath was ragged and she could no more stop the desperate cries escaping her throat than she could stop the waves of shudders wracking her body.

All at once the sensations erupted within her. Her eyes screwed shut and every muscle in her body contracted. Her legs vibrated, out of her control. Her hands clenched, digging her nails into Cullen's shoulders.

"Renya" Cullen moaned against her neck as they collapsed together, heaving for breath. The two looked into each other's eyes, neither knowing what would come next.

For that moment though, it had been done and nothing could return them to the way things were that morning. Together, they would face the morning.

* * *

So I realize that wasn't as intense as the last two, graphically speaking, and ended rather abruptly. It was supposed to be more in-depth but it really wrote itself. I'm not sure that I'm content with how it turned out, but that's what I get for doing a last minute rush job just to get it finished.

Either way, next up is Zevran x Dalish. Remember to leave me encouraging comments and suggest the next pairings!


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